


A Reaper In The Stars

by Weresilver-In-Space (JuhllyMBS)



Category: Almost Human, Doom (2005), Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, John Grimm is Leonard McCoy, Medical Torture, So we'll be here for a long ass time, There are 2 centuries to go through
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-09-15 10:12:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16931346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuhllyMBS/pseuds/Weresilver-In-Space
Summary: He lost count of how many identities he went through years ago, but he still kept on living. John Grimm was ready to leave the name Leonard McCoy - and the Enterprise - behind after Altamid, but nothing ever goes according to plans.[Tags and characters will be updated as the story progresses!]





	1. A Grimm Reminder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and welcome to yet another story I will probably take a forever to finish!  
> The first part was posted on my tumblr on its own, but it was revised for publishing here.

_23rd century – 2264_

There was no changing his captain, and he really should stop trying. He never truly listened and put himself in danger on too many occasions, often dragging others along. Now, they were stuck on a planet, separated, and under Klingon guard. As if that had ever been the start of something even remotely good.

The four Klingons escorting him and Spock seemed in a particularly bad mood, not made much better after beating the Vulcan for talking back. Not everything could be solved by some bout of logic and at some point, Spock would need to get that into his skull. Leonard shook the thought off as soon as it came. Christ, he was annoyed at how this whole day was going.

“ _Spock_ ,” he whispered, “ _how are you holding up?_ ”

“ _Adequately, doctor._ ” He sighed. “ _It would be preferable to keep quiet before they decide to gang up on_ you _as well_.”

Leonard couldn’t stop a chuckle at the idea from coming out, and Spock looked at him with a raised eyebrow. That was a first from Leonard, but the crew had run into the Klingons before. Spock had heard from the away team how Leonard dealt with them once, but back then it was different, he had his medkit. Here, they took the precaution of taking it from the doctor.

“ _First of all,_ ” he continued, “ _They understand what we’re saying as much as we understand them_.” Which, for the Vulcan, was virtually nothing. The four Klingons around them talked among themselves in their own quite loud language, but Leonard had to refrain from paying too much attention.

Getting out of there wouldn't have been particularly difficult, he had to admit. The two in the front were hardly paying attention to their prisoners as it was. Learning the language was also something he had to do years before he even considered joining Starfleet. He was risking slipping back into something he certainly didn't want to, however.

He kept his eyes focused ahead, staring holes into the back of the Klingon directly in front of him. They spent the entire time comparing their battles and kills and seemed quite lively at the conversation topic. Until the warrior felt the eyes on his back and turned abruptly to him.

He asked – shouted, more appropriately – something about a challenge. Leonard pretended to not understand him but didn't step back nor looked away. The Klingon repeated his question in a much more vicious tone. Leonard's pretense of not understanding him wasn't entirely untrue, as that particular dialect was new to him. He snarled something near unintelligible at the lack of response once again, stepping further into his personal space.

"Sorry, pal, I have no idea what you're saying," Leonard finally spoke, raising his hands. That finally did it. The butt of the Klingon's gun hit his jaw a little faster than he expected it to and he staggered a few steps backward.

The warrior started openly complaining after that, quickly joined by the others. What Leonard could gather is that whatever they were doing on that planet wasn't by choice and they were blaming the Federation for it. They were also not keen on taking the two of them as prisoners. 

" _Leonard,_ " Spock called, and the doctor quickly suppressed the upward twist of his mouth before turning to him. He seemed somewhat alarmed at the moment of defiance. " _I should advise against this sort of action in the future_."

" _So you_ do _care, Spock_ ," he teased. Spock raised an eyebrow in what would probably have been a sigh in a human. " _Don't worry about me, Spock, I'm fine._ "

They continued walking for a while longer with their escort back to comparing battles. Wherever they were going was most likely on the planet's surface. They would have been transported out if possible, and that gave Leonard the time he needed.

“Spock,” Leonard spoke far more casually than before as he slowed down, but he didn't turn to face the Vulcan. “Step away as soon as… Well, you’ll know when.”

The Klingon behind him poked his back with a disruptor rifle, trying to get him to walk again. He assumed the one behind Spock had another rifle, and one of them all had his medkit.

Spock could only watch, somewhat bewildered, what followed. In a swift movement of his left arm, Leonard pulled the Klingon by his gun, keeping him in front of himself in a tight hold. Of course, he tried to fire, but Leonard held his aim at the Klingon behind Spock.

The Vulcan took the rifle from the fallen soldier, but Leonard seemed almost… Familiar with the weapon, as the two remaining Klingons barely had time to turn around and fire, shooting the warrior the doctor held firmly before falling onto the grassy path they had been walking with clean shots to their chests. The Vulcan mused whether Leonard had had some form of military training before Starfleet, but he decided to leave the theorizing for later. They _did_ have more pressing matters.

Leonard started searching the four bodies for his medkit as well as induction coils. Damn Klingon rifles could be troublesome with their parts. Knowing his luck, there probably were others on the planet as well, so whether he liked it or not, arming themselves was the best option.

His belongings easily stood out on the blood-stained armor these warriors wore, and the coils were easy enough to find. Leonard sighed before he dug into his medkit for a tricorder.

"Come on, Spock, we should find the others," he said after checking the tricorder, thankfully functional.

“Doctor,” Spock called with no response after they started walking again. “Doctor McCoy.” Nothing. If he did not have good control of his emotions, Spock would add annoyance to his voice, “Leonard.”

The doctor froze for a few seconds and turned to him after letting out a sigh. “Spock, do me a favor. Keep this under wraps.”

“And what exactly am I supposed to keep a secret?” Spock said almost nonchalantly. 

“ _Goddamn it_.” He cursed under his breath. Spock simply raised an eyebrow in something akin to a challenge. "Listen, we'll talk about this later. We _need_ to find the rest of the crew."

Leonard resumed the walk forward, looking at the tricorder every now and then, and Spock followed quietly enough. That was simply muscle memory, nothing but a reminder of someone Leonard hadn’t been for way too long and would rather not go back to.

*****

Not that he had it at that moment, but Leonard hated having too much free time to stop and think about how everything had changed and how long it had been. At least then, he was busy running.

Finding the captain took them about six hours, and the sun was about to set. Jim was conscious and mostly uninjured, but he would certainly be complaining about some form of muscle ache after slowing down. It didn't help that they had to run as if their lives depended on it.

Rather, Jim and Spock had to. Leonard had long dropped the disruptor rifle and stayed a few meters behind the two. He didn't allow them to leave his sight, already taking a shot or two as the Klingons insisted on trying to shoot further ahead. It would be fairly easy for him to catch up to them if he actually wanted to, and pretend none of those shots grazed his skin.

“ _Bones!_ ” He heard Jim call him as he looked back. He seemed to want to wait for the doctor, but for once he wouldn’t have that.

“ _Keep movin’!_ ” Leonard shouted back. The Klingons were relentless in their chase, and he was determined to keep them away for as long as he could. Spock had also started glancing back, much to the doctor’s chagrin. “ _I_ said _keep movin’!!_ ”

A sharp pain spread from his left leg and he quickly fell. He forced the panic back down enough to turn around, moving forward ever so slightly. It was one of hell of a lucky shot, but he was just missing a chunk of his leg. Painful as all hell, but he would be fine. He could get back up and get out of there.

He had fallen quietly enough for Jim to not notice it until he was trying to stand up once again. Spock had to hold him with both hands in order to keep him from running back. For once, Leonard was thankful for that extra Vulcan strength.

“Bones!!” Jim called again, trying to free himself from his first officer’s grasp. “Dammit, Spock, let go!” He couldn’t be bothered to play it cool, to pretend he even knew what he wanted to do by walking back. The Klingons were closing in, and Leonard was already dangerously close to them.

Jim couldn't notice it in his own worry that Spock’s breathing was as erratic as his own. They had been running for about an hour, with no chance to catch their breath, and they _should not_ stop. But they couldn't possibly leave Leonard behind, either.

The doctor got up and started dragging himself forward, twinges of pain running through his body with every step. It didn't matter what he actually was, in the end, everything still hurt as it used to. But in the end, Leonard assumed this to be the least horrible decision he had made.

Spock heard a distant whisper, meant only for his ears, and the change in his expression was subtle. He had to yank at Jim’s arm for him to move again, but it was clear that neither of them truly wanted to go anywhere. The captain silently watched the figure in blue grow distant. He could swear Leonard had stopped walking.

The Vulcan had put a good distance between them, virtually carrying Jim around. That was definitely not the way he wanted to go, but Leonard had quickly come to terms with it. One last step, one last jolt of pain, and his only thought was how those two should not be there to see it.

It took only one glance, and Jim froze in place as if his feet had suddenly become roots, stopping Spock on his tracks and forcing him to turn around as well. Neither of them managed to muster the strength to say anything as Leonard's body fell to the ground, the blood splash being the only indication of where on his neck the shot had hit.

Everything became a blur after that. Jim followed Spock's lead almost automatically, despite slowing down and needing to be brought back to reality at certain moments. Some unfortunate reality, that was.

Spock wanted to stop and process what had just happened, but his priority was finding some form of shelter for the coming night, as well as the rest of the away team. Jim was silent and visibly distressed, something he had only personally witnessed following Admiral Pike's death.

Spock had led them to a small cave, somewhat hidden by the odd-colored trees. He walked ahead, hoping to assess the safety of their possible shelter. It wasn’t long until Spock returned, while the captain was still standing by the entrance. “Jim–”

“We–we shouldn’t have left, Spock,” he finally spoke in spite of his faint, tired voice. “We shouldn’t have left him behind…”

He took a few steps deeper into the cave before essentially collapsing against a wall. His hands were shaking, but he knew Spock wouldn’t mind that emotional display, unworthy of a captain. Not at that moment.

“We could’ve done something, he–”

“Jim.” Spock tried to stop his rambling to no avail, and Jim continued through a shaky voice.

“– he didn’t have to _die_!” Jim snapped with a wave of strong emotion, clearly fighting to maintain the crumbling façade. Spock didn’t need to come too close to know what it all was: grief and anger. “It should’ve been–”

“ _Captain_.” Spock’s grip on his shoulder finally stopped him and his voice somehow remained steady. “What transpired was entirely the doctor’s choice.”

Those words barely left his mouth, as if he didn't believe them either. Jim had turned to him with a glare, but he did not get up.

“How the hell do you manage to sound so _detached_?” Jim’s voice was dry, suddenly without much else other than anger, apparently directed at his first officer.

Seeing Spock’s lack of response, Jim grumbled something unintelligible and stormed further into the cave. Contrary to the captain’s apparent belief, however, Spock was _anything_ but detached. He merely chose to prioritize the doctor’s final request over his emotions.

_Keep going, don’t look back, and keep everyone safe, Spock._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it because this particular day is not earning its end for a while :)  
>  **EDIT - 09/01/2019:**  
>  Hello again!! I had chapter 1 to 3 ready to be updated for a few months now but had decided I should wait until I got up to date - I would have notified these updates whenever I put chapter 5 out. But, all things considered (aka chapter 4 being a pain in my ass again), I think I should update these chapters now. I feel like this is good both for my motivation and you all who are patiently waiting for updates (love you all <3).  
> Why am I even reworking the already-posted chapters? Simple. ARITS is my biggest story in a long time (yes, bigger than Captain's Log, and that's already something), and I'm a bit of a perfectionist. Things feel much better, and I'm a lot more comfortable with my style. I have since started a story-wide outline for ARITS, which is mostly done, too.
> 
> Chapter 1, in particular, had just a bit of rewording and a scene change. Hope you guys enjoy the updates!!


	2. After Mars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, folks! :D Enjoy the new chapter...

_21st century – 2046_

The elevator ride out of Olduvai seemed to last forever. Only two out of the nearly two hundred people in the facility were walking out, everyone else killed by a monster or killed for becoming one. Or simply wrongly killed. John tried not to dwell on that thought, but the fact remained that he felt ready for retirement, a couple of years before he hit thirty.

His whole body ached, and John assumed it was due to the twenty-fourth chromosome now in his DNA, as his body finally had the chance to take all of what happened in. He didn’t move a muscle for the entire ride upwards, carrying Samantha in his arms and hoping for some real peace now that it was all over.

He squinted at the brightness that came in as soon as the doors opened. After god knows how many hours underground, stuck in a rush of adrenaline while he fought for both of their lives, he couldn’t blame himself for forgetting just how bright the sun could be.

John took the first step out of the elevator, greeted by the cocking of countless guns aimed at him. It seemed that Portman’s message got through after all and that they were under orders not to let anyone out. He sighed, tired, and one of the marines shouted at him.

“Hold it!” An entire unit stepped forward. John assumed the man talking to him to be its commanding officer, although it was hard to tell over the distance where he was exactly. “Identify yourself!”

“Sergeant John Grimm.” His voice was dry, and he slowly walked forward. “Rapid Response Tactical Squad 6… Or what’s left of it.” No one was shooting at them, so he picked up his pace. “If you have orders to shoot, let me at least get her to one of those ambulances I can see behind you.”

No one else raised a gun, and no one tried to stop him from walking into one of the ambulances. They tried, however, to ask about what happened as he passed, but John wasn’t sure he had actually processed everything just yet.

He gently placed Samantha on the bed before any paramedics could approach them. He sat down the closest he could to her, watching their work in silence. She was out of danger, with wounds relatively easy to treat and a load of exhaustion that would probably keep her asleep until evening. Probably for the best, too.

His own exhaustion crept up on him, the adrenaline finally subsiding in his system and the aching only worsening. He let his eyes close, barely taking the calming breaths he should take. Images from throughout the night were quick to flash in his mind, with the deaths he had been there to see, as well as those for which his mind filled in the blanks. And, for the briefest moment, he imagined what could have become of him.

His eyes snapped open as the doors of the ambulance were opened. He finally took a deep breath, rather relieved that it was just his mind playing tricks and that they were, in fact, back on Earth.

*****

John had settled on spending the rest of the day by Samantha’s side, but after an odd glance from a nurse, it dawned on him he was still in the marine gear. By extension, then, he still had his face and hair covered in blood, and either no one brought that up, or he just didn’t listen to them.

“Sam's fine, dammit,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, as he got up and started pacing about the room. “We're fine.”

“Oh, you’re awake.” John missed the hiss of the automatic door, but the nurse stood still by the entrance with a bag in her hands until he gestured for her to come in. “Sorry,” she started, walking up to him, “We thought you might wanna, uh,” she gestured toward him, “Change out of that.”

John stared down at the plastic bag handed to him for a moment before taking it. He opened his mouth to speak, but the nurse continued before he could voice his thoughts.

"There's a shower you can use down the other end of the corridor.” She turned her attention to Samantha and the monitor to the right of the bed. “You could use the breather before she wakes up.”

John followed her gaze and couldn't stop the sigh from escaping him as he shook his head. “I'd rather stay here till she does.”

"She's probably gonna be asleep for a couple more hours.” She turned back to him. “You should clean up a little in the meantime."

"I don’t think –"

"Better do it now before you properly weird someone out," she had a small smile as she started gently pushing him toward the door. “If any nurse says anything, just tell them Anna Moore sent you for a shower, and they should leave you alone.”

John huffed a laugh, slowly walking along. “I’m not actually being given a choice here, am I?”

“No,” she said flatly. John turned a glance to the dark-skinned woman leading him out, and he had a distinct feeling that she was studying him somehow. He decided to blame it on a medical assessment and his own overthinking and kept going down the corridor, ignoring her sudden turn to a different direction.

*****

Clean and dressed, John decided to go down to the cafeteria before returning to his bedside vigil. Whoever got him the new set of clothes had quite a good eye; the t-shirt and sweatpants fit well enough to be called comfortable.

There were very few people around, maybe because of the time, maybe because they were all busy with who they were visiting. Still, a small group of nurses was in a corner, chatting among themselves. He sat at a considerable distance from them, mostly unnoticed in a corner of his own.

His breakfast, which consisted only of a large cup of coffee, was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. He looked up to find a well-dressed man approaching him, a sight slightly out of place in the hospital’s cafeteria.

“John Grimm.” He spoke with only a hint of a questioning tone. “Could we talk for a moment?”

Before John had even turned to look at him, the man was already sitting down across the table. "I didn't say I'd talk," he noted dryly. "Who are you?"

In spite of asking, John was barely paying attention to what he was saying. Something about UAC and Olduvai, of course. About what happened. _About what became of the C24._

During those fifteen or so minutes of half listening, he had already picked up the same veiled question a few times, and it drained his already strained patience. It was taking more of his self-control than he would care to admit to not snap at the man beside him. All he stepped out of Sam’s room for was a shower and some coffee, not this barrage of repeated questions.

"Sergeant," he tried once again and as John didn't react, he continued, "It's important we understand what happened in Olduvai so we can improve our security me–"

"Security," John repeated with an honest to goodness laugh. The idea seemed like one hell of an elaborate joke as if what happened on Mars could be labeled as a simple security breach and be left at that. "Almost two hundred people died, and you wanna pass it as a security problem?" He hissed. "If you guys were actually worried about security, you'd have avoided human tests. Or _any_ tests, for that matter."

That was already more than he would probably have said otherwise, but at that point, he was more concerned with his coffee than with whatever UAC wanted. He grabbed what he was there for and walked back to Sam’s room. He was certain that they would do it all over if given the chance; he almost expected them to take another shot at destroying humanity soon. The Eugenics War hadn't been enough, it seemed.

He slammed the door shut behind him with a sigh. "Hey, Sam. Good to see you awake." He didn't look up at her as he slumped against the armchair on the side of the bed. He didn't need to, as he was almost certain he could hear her slightly elevated breathing. "How are you?"

His mind was anywhere but the room he was in, but he didn't miss the sigh she let out as soon as he made his question.

“Could be better…" The pause was long enough that John looked up at her. Sam was focused on the window and the clear sky that they could see through it. “What time is it?”

“Almost twelve.” She turned to him in mild surprise, which prompted him to continue. “Today's still Tuesday." The annoyed groan that followed made him laugh, if only for a brief moment. "Good to know you still remember that."

"Kinda hard to forget how you actually tricked me into believing I'd slept for two days when we were kids."

"Oh, come on, it was funny." 

"Yeah, for _you_."

With nothing else to say on the topic, John let the conversation die for the moment. The silence that followed wasn't either comfortable or awkward, and John focused on the warm cup he held, trying to clear his mind of everything that happened until then. Chances were he wouldn't be able to rest on that day one way or another.

"Hey, John," Samantha was the one to break the silence, and he hummed in response. “I kept the apartment." He turned his attention to her once more, only to find her watching him for his reaction. "You know, our… Our old one."

He swallowed hard. "Yeah." Hell, he hadn't been in that place in so long. "Who's taking care of it?"

"Aunt Margaret."

"Of course," he chuckled. "I'm guessing you want me to call and get the keys?"

"Well," she began in a tone of fake innocence, "We need somewhere to go, and since no one's gonna let me up –"

"Your leg is broken, Sam, no one _should_ let you up."

"See?" She continued, bearing a faint smile. "Do us both a favor, will you?"

He sighed with a roll of his eyes. He wasn't particularly interested in catching up with relatives, but Sam had a point. They weren't going anywhere but some semblance of home for a while.

*****

Both of them had been approached by UAC on multiple occasions in the somewhat short period that Sam stayed in the hospital. Too short, as far as John was concerned, but maybe he simply spent too much time with field medicine and its precariousness to actually gauge anything.

John had gone to the apartment a couple of days before Sam was discharged from the hospital. He had always wondered the reason behind so many windows, but things made a lot more sense over the years. It was a reminder that they were back on Earth, above ground.

The first night of what would be proper sleep was restless at best. John spent most of his time tossing and turning until he decided to go back into the living room. The night sky over the city proved to be a calming sight for the time being.

It didn't take or at least it didn't seem to take long for the sun to rise, adding an orange tint to most of the apartment. With the new color, also came the sound of soft footsteps behind him, toward the kitchen. Samantha was awake. More steps came from behind him. He turned around in time to catch something flying toward him before it hit his face.

“Shit,” Sam whispered, looking at John with as much surprise as he had while looking at her, “I didn’t think you would be awake.”

“Yeah, no shit," he said while examining what he had in hands. "Since when do you go around throwing fruits at people?"

"Since I'm pretty sure the recipient hasn't eaten anything." Her casual tone made him roll his eyes, but he took a bite off the apple regardless. "John, you look like shit," she continued, taking another apple for herself then settling beside him. “Like you haven’t actually slept in days.”

“You’d imagine that the extra chromosome would do something about that,” he forced the words out with a chuckle, not meeting her gaze as he ate.

“It can’t fix that sleep-deprived face of yours,” she said with a much gentler tone. “If you’re having problems sleeping –”

"I'm fine, Sam." He sighed, "I just need to find something to do."

"Well, you could always work in security." She paused for a bite of her apple. "If you're thinking about it, anyway."

They finished their fruits in silence, and John returned his attention toward the outside. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to find some work. A chance to –

"What the _fuck_ , Samantha?!" His thoughts were interrupted by the cold that made way under his t-shirt and suddenly touched his side.

"What, my feet are cold!" She exclaimed, only slightly pulling them back.

"Then put some socks on," he pushed her away and stood up. "God, I didn't miss your cold feet, that's for sure."

"Are you saying you missed me?" She sat up cross-legged, trying to warm her feet without an external source of heat, then continued with a sly smile. "You know, all you needed to do was call."

John turned around to argue but instead frowned upon the distant sound he heard from somewhere else in the apartment; from Sam's room. "Your phone's ringing," he said simply.

Samantha looked at him understandably confused, but she walked back into her room anyway. John didn't mean to eavesdrop on the call, and he did manage to ignore most of it, but what he did hear made him sit down again with a sigh. Of course, UAC wouldn't let them go.

*****

'No nightmares with no sleep' was a flawed logic at best, but it worked for the first few weeks. John had found a night-time job and he tried living his life as normally as possible, fighting that same old exhaustion as well as he could.

He often found himself absentmindedly staring at the TV from the kitchen counter, usually on his own. Schedules were hard to match once Sam started working again as well, wherever she decided to work at; John simply hadn't registered the name.

The silence was rather unwelcome of a thing, giving him way too much time to think. He was in the middle of his breakfast, some toast and coffee as usual when a tap on his shoulder startled him into paying attention to his surroundings again.

“Think it’s actually going to happen?” Samantha stood by his side, looking at the TV. John’s silence prompted her to continue, “The whole planetary unification thing?”

John shrugged. Admittedly, he wasn’t paying attention at all to the TV, and she seemed to be aware of that. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready to leave?”

“Day off.” She took the cup from his hand and looked into it. “Shouldn’t you be drinking something other than coffee? You just got home.”

“It’s fine.” John rubbed his eyes in a subconscious act, which caused Sam to sigh beside him. “I’m fine. Really.”

“John, you stayed up all night,” she insisted. "You should sleep."

"Can't." He stood up and turned to leave the kitchen. "I'm going out again."

"What? It can wait, you need to rest."

"No."

" _One_ hour, John. Hardly a nap." She was trailing him through the apartment.

"Sam, it _can't_ wait." He realized he sounded more tired and agitated than he wanted to. "Just leave it."

"I'm not going to leave it," her tone was stern, as well as her expression. They were both too stubborn, it seemed. “Not when you look way more exhausted than you want to admit." He huffed and turned away from her. _He really just huffed and turned_. "Dammit, John, have you been –"

"No, I have _not_ been sleeping, Sam!" His voice had an edge to it that he never meant to add, and that seemed to startle Sam, but it was a little too late to stop. "I haven't had a decent night of sleep since we got here! Just…" He trailed off, pausing for a deep breath. "Just let me do something, I can't stay here all day."

"And what the hell are you trying to do today?"

John was silent for a moment and then let out a defeated sigh. "Extra shift. Someone got sick, or something." Sam crossed her arms and the unspoken question was quite clear. "No, it's not the first time."

"This is a terrible coping mechanism," she started, back to the usual gentle voice, "And it doesn't take a psychologist to see that."

"Yeah, well," he ran his hands over his face with a humorless laugh. "I guess I'm not known for healthy habits, huh?"

"No, you're not." She sighed, "Is this… Need for activity the reason you joined the military?"

Admittedly, John hadn't thought about it, at least not like that. In a way, he believed he was doing something useful, something that could keep people safe. What happened in Olduvai really put all of it in question, and maybe he should have stuck to medicine, after all.

He shrugged for an answer and finally walked past Samantha in order to leave the apartment. Thinking about it wouldn't do any good to either of them.

*****

John all but fell onto one end of the couch as soon as he got home. Two months of the routine he'd set for himself were finally taking its toll. The apartment was silent, but he couldn't be bothered turning the TV on while Sam was still asleep. She had been woken up by accident enough times already.

Still, the sound of slippers hitting the floor came sooner than he expected. He turned toward the kitchen unnoticed as Sam walked straight to the fridge. She only looked up in his general direction after she sat down at the counter with a bagel.

“Is that even edible like that?” John broke the silence and the small, somewhat startled gasp that she let out made him chuckle. “Good morning, Sam, I’ve been here for the past ten minutes.”

“Uhm… Morning.” It took her a beat of silence to get up and move to the couch, yawning before finally taking a bite of the bagel. “I should’ve toasted it…”

“Maybe you should’ve,” he said with a small amused smile. “How are you, sleepyhead?"

She turned to him and her expression conveyed all he really needed to know. She just woke up. "I'm up one hour earlier than I need to be," she said after another yawn. Then she added, as an afterthought, " _You_ are here earlier." He nodded as if that wasn't an obvious fact. "Did something happen?"

"I didn't stop for an espresso." His casual tone was met with an expression of morning confusion. "You… Never visited the cafe just around the corner of the hospital?"

"No," she said quietly, shaking her head, "But you go there regularly."

It wasn't a question, so John didn't reply. Trying to deny it would be a waste, anyway; she wouldn't believe him after saying it the way he did. He stayed quiet for a moment, with his attention shifting between the sunrise – it was still somewhat of a surprise how peaceful it was – and Samantha as she finished her cold bagel.

But then he noticed she was staring at him, and he couldn't help the frown that formed on his face. "Is something wrong?"

She shook her head, but didn't say anything nor did she turn her attention elsewhere. Another beat of silence and she was still watching him. “Are you alright, John?”

“What…?” That question was out of nowhere, to say the least. He assumed it had something to do with the amount of sleep he had been avoiding but… "Sam, the hell are you talking about?"

“I mean…" She paused, apparently choosing her words as she rubbed her eyes. “What I’m trying to ask is if you –” She stopped mid-sentence and sighed, finally looking away from him. John couldn’t help but be confused by the very uncharacteristic behavior. “How are you feeling, John?”

“This has nothing to do with the extra shifts, does it?”

“No,” she spoke quietly, “But I’d like it if you stopped with those too.” There was a small chuckle from both of them, but the smile was especially short-lived on Sam. “It’s… It’s been two months now.”

John felt like he should have known what it really was about. Or at least _guessed_ that he wasn’t the only having problems with what happened.

“Come here,” he called, poking her with a foot. She scooted over to him without a word, and John gently took her into a hug, settling her over his chest. “I’m fine if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Except you are not sleeping the way you should, and it’s all over your face.”

“I thought this was not about my lack of sleep?”

“It’s not,” she sighed. “I’m just worried.” At that comment, John looked down at her, expecting some more explanation. “By now, I think most people would be having all sorts of symptoms. You haven’t slept for more than three or four hours at a time, and you're _fine_."

"Sam…" Fine was probably exaggerating it, he felt more exhausted than at any other moment in his life, but that was it. "I _am_ just tired, alright?" John finally admitted with a sigh. "There's nothing else going on."

"Nothing but the extra chromosome keeping you together!" John tensed involuntarily, and Samantha looked up at him. "Shit, I–I'm sorry."

"So," John kept his voice low as he gave her a gentle squeeze, "That's what you are worried about."

Sam nodded minutely among deep breaths. Some minutes were spent in silence before she found words to continue. "Sometimes, I'm awake before you are home and I have to remind myself that I didn't leave you out there." Her focus was on the sky outside as she spoke, briefly pausing to give John a chance to say something. He didn't take it. "And then I remember I might've done something worse than killing you."

"Sam, I'm fine," he repeated, for all the good it would do. “I'm pretty sure that if anything was gonna happen, it would’ve happened by now.”

“You can’t be sure of that,” she commented, apprehensive. "Some of them took longer than others to mutate, and we have no idea how it really works."

"You're overthinking it," he said, poking her forehead. "I'll admit," he paused as Sam sat up straight to look at him. It gave him an extra second to think over what to say. "I've been having a hard time sleeping because of nightmares. And no," he continued before Sam could interject, "I will not take anything to sleep. There's nothing happening to my body, and I'm sure I'd know if there was."

Sam visibly relaxed, but not by much. She still had something to say, it seemed, as she came close to starting a few sentences before actually speaking. "I know this is kinda inconvenient for you and you might not wanna do it, and you have every ri–"

" _Sam_ ," John called, poking her again. "Don't ramble, just say it."

"I'd like to take a blood sample," she said tentatively. "Run some tests."

"What are you looking for?"

"Well, what I'm hoping I don't find is an elevated white cell count, that would mean –"

"Rejection," John provided fairly quickly. Sam raised an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged in response. "That's kinda basic."

"Whatever you say, doctor." There was finally a sign of humor on her again. "Another thing I hope to not find is red cells clusters. At least that's what they seemed to be…"

No explanation was necessary there, and John didn't need to mull the matter over for too long. "If you say it'll give you the reassurance you need, go for it."

Sam let out a relieved breath. "Right, I'll uh, I'll be right back." She stood up and walked back into her room. She was prepared for it, John realized. And somehow, she still had that much of a problem just breaching the topic. Granted, he would have avoided it, and she probably knew it. No wonder she was so… Careful. Well, he could deal with it for his sister's sake.

Samantha returned a minute later with a small bag, immediately sitting beside John once again. She gave him a questioning glance before he rolled up the left sleeve of his sweatshirt and held his arm out. It was amusing, he thought, first that Sam had managed to bring the entire kit with her, and second that he barely even registered the needle breaking skin. There wasn't anything visibly odd in his blood, and both of them relaxed considerably at that.

"Thank you," Sam said in such a low whisper that John thought he had imagined it for a second.

"Anything to keep the number of insomniacs in this apartment down to one."

"About that," Sam started after putting everything into her kit once more. "Do you really need the extra shifts?"

He shrugged. If he was being honest, no, he didn't need to work the extra hours, he certainly was in no need of money. He just needed to be busy with something other than his mind, at least for a while longer.

"I mean," she continued, moving to the kitchen, "I'm positive you could be doing something a little more satisfying with yourself."

John watched Sam leave the medical kit on the counter before he realized he had yet to eat something. "What do you suggest, then?" He asked as soon as he reached the fridge.

"Well, a good place to start," she lightly pushed him away in order to take a number of things from the fridge, "Is a decent breakfast."

"What? _You're_ cooking?" Samantha turned a defiant look at him and nodded. "Wow, times certainly changed."

"Oh, shut it." The attempt of conveying seriousness in her voice fell flat, given the laughter that erupted shortly after. "I was thinking of some sort of voluntary work?" Samantha was focused on whatever it was that she had decided to make. "That's gotta be better than pulling double shifts almost every day."

John didn't say anything to that. He moved to sit at the counter while she cooked, and the smell of bacon rose shortly afterward. "Careful to not burn it, Sam," he teased. "I'd rather have a bed for when I inevitably sleep today." 

She merely turned a glare at him, finishing up and setting two plates down on the counter. Scrambled eggs, bacon and a piece of toast. At least it smelled good.

"So," Sam spoke after a few bites into proper breakfast, "You're staying home today?"

"Yeah," he said simply, paying more attention to his food instead. "Damn, you actually learned how to cook."

"Of course I did!" She feigned indignation. "Either that or I would spend too much money on take-out."

Some minutes of amiable silence passed as they ate. Samantha turned her full attention to John once in a while, but she didn't break the silence until they were both done.

"Do you think you might actually get some rest, or will I have to lock you in when I leave?"

"I doubt it'll come to _that_."

"Good," she left the dishes in the sink and walked around the counter. "You need to sleep, so don't even think of doing chores right now, we can deal with that later."

"Later being?"

"Whenever you don't look like such a sad heap of garbage," she teased with a smile.

He rolled his eyes at the comparison and moved back to the couch. He considered turning the TV on since Sam was already awake, but the idea quickly lost its appeal. He waited until he heard her walk further into the apartment before resting his head on the couch with a tired sigh.

Without much reason to fight it, he let his eyes close and sleep came easily then. Sam had a point in all the times she said he needed rest, but he would leave that debate, as well as whatever nightmare was coming, for later.

*****

"John, where the hell are we going?" Sam stayed by John's side, barely keeping up with his pace as they walked down one of the busier streets.

"We are almost there, be patient." Maybe the walk to their destination wasn't as short as it seemed to him. "I think you'll like the place."

"You know, that tells me absolutely nothing," she pressed, but of course, he didn't reply. "Could you at least tell me why you're dragging me along?"

"Well, you're free and I could use the company," he answered without slowing down. "Besides, it was your idea."

"I assure you, my idea was not getting dragged somewhere today."

"Were you doing _anything_ today?"

"No, and that was kind of the point."

He groaned, "Stop complaining, already."

Instead of arguing, Samantha settled on quietly keeping up. John walked in large steps, purposeful, down a path he knew well, eventually stopping in front of the local library. He gestured for her to go inside first. She stepped in, ready to complain about whatever John was dragging her into, but the thought disappeared once she took the interior in.

_Kids._ Sam turned to John in disbelief and confusion when a number of kids ran up to him as soon as he followed her in. They seemed genuinely excited, talking over each other about way too many things at once, and John was genuinely relaxed for a change.

"Hey, keep your voices down," John was barely louder than them all together, but they went quiet immediately. He continued, in a much lower voice himself, "We are in a library, remember? Now go sit back down, I'll be there in a moment."

They quickly scurried back to their seats, giggling and chattering quietly after being admonished, but never returning to what had previously held their attention in order to focus on John. 

"So. Kids." Sam drew John's attention, lightly elbowing his arm with a smile. "Never thought you'd be the type. I mean," she added after John turned a raised brow at her, "Last I saw you with a kid was when _we_ were kids, and you ended up in a fight."

"Wow, really nice of you," John chuckled. "People change, every now and then."

“Johnnn, hurry up! It's story time!!” One of the little girls whined from her place in the reading circle. "We already chose the book!"

He moved to where the children were sitting without another word to his sister. "What do we have today?"

His reply came in the form of a book handed to him, and Sam watched as John started reading from Matilda. The scene was a nice change. She couldn't recall when she last saw him this relaxed, but there was no hint of tension on his features at that moment whatsoever. It was something she could get used to. It seemed to be something he was already used to, anyway. 

"Hey, Sam," John called, and the curious eyes of the children turned to her. "Are you gonna stand there all day," he continued with an honestly devious grin, "Or are you gonna read a story with us?"

She didn't have much of a choice, considering the small, excited voices around them. She sat beside John on the carpet, and they continued reading, eventually acting out parts of the book. The light and playful atmosphere was something she sorely missed. It wasn't just good for the kids, it was good for both of them.

One story became two; something that happened often, it seemed. The children scampered about, talking about the stories they wanted to hear next, and John barely had the time to turn a smile to Sam as they returned with a number of books.

They were still at the beginning of How To Train Your Dragon when the first wave of parents showed up, coupled with erupting complaints that were only placated after John assured them they would continue the story another day.

The library quieted rather quickly after that. A young girl sat down between John and Sam, letting out a yawn despite her efforts to hide it. John scooped her up, ignoring the yelp of surprise. "Feeling tired already, Sophie?"

"No!" She giggled, "A little." She rested against John's shoulder, continuing in a much quieter voice, "Will she come next time too?"

John glanced at Sam, still beside him. "Yeah, I will." Sophie didn't see the smile directed at her. "Even if it's just to say hi." 

The girl hummed. "Okay. Today was fun."

Silence fell over them, and several minutes passed before John stood up with Sophie on his arms. Her breathing was calm, and she seemed to be asleep.

"This is a moment I'll never forget," Sam commented. "You actually listened to something I said."

"Yeah, yeah," he was careful to keep his voice low, but that didn't stop him from huffing a laugh, "You must be really proud."

"Well, I am at least surprised at how…" She shrugged. "How routine this seems to be."

“Yeah,” he replied softly, staring at the child asleep in his arms. “I am too.”

*****

John didn't go straight home after work, driving instead to the coffee shop closest to the hospital. It was nearly empty as usual for that time in the morning, and it wasn't long until a cup of coffee made its way to his table.

He looked down at his phone, half expecting it to ring for whatever reason. He turned his attention to the TV in the corner once in a while, drinking the espresso in silence, but nothing kept his attention for long enough. Most of the time, it was some news about the unification as it slowly progressed, anyway.

The number of UAC appearances in the past four months had diminished to almost nothing, but that wasn't as reassuring as he thought it would be; there had barely been any repercussion to what happened in Mars as it was. It really didn't sit well with him how quickly things seemed to have been forgotten or, he supposed, covered up.

It'd soon be half a year since the whole thing, and if he were honest, he felt nowhere near a sense of normalcy, often catching himself stuck in the what ifs. That moment was hardly any different.

The background noise he learned to ignore as he came to frequent the cafe only served to take him back to the marine base. The promise of leave filled it with noises he ignored just as easily. He had hesitated about going to Olduvai with fear of looking back, he realized, but checking in on Samantha at least – _thankfully_ had proven to be enough to drag him out.

And to think it could have been worse. Maybe it would have been better. Either way, he and Sam walked out of there, but they shouldn't have been the only ones. He should have done more, he strongly believed he could have. He knew for a fact Destroyer would have survived it, and Duke and The Kid would likely have made it as well. Hell, he'd probably feel a whole lot better if anyone else, even Portman and all his shit, had gotten out of that place.

And wasn't that just the thing? John survived thanks to a chance he didn't believe he deserved and ended up burying five empty coffins afterward, as well as a closed one. The Kid was the one to have a remotely decent burial, but there had hardly been anyone that would have mattered for any of them.

It should have been someone else. Someone better, who could have done better than he did and could actually have avoided the deaths of nearly two hundred plus seven.

He snapped back into the present in order to drink what was left of the coffee before it got cold. That was the very opposite of what he hoped to achieve when he started going to the coffee shop, but he was certain of one thing: Mars had always been hell, and it was bent on taking everything he had.

*****

In retrospect, John should have at least guessed that not all nights would be uneventful. Maybe he got complacent, enjoying the simplicity of his job, or maybe he was just trying his hardest to leave it all behind after five months.

The UAC, on the other hand, didn't seem to actually let go. “Sergeant Grimm?” A voice croaked as a man approached him. John looked up from his little outpost to see a well-dressed man, maybe in his mid-thirties, walking into the building and up to his seat. “I'm sorry, my name is Samuel Hayden,” he spoke with a faint smile, “I represent UAC's board of directors –” John let out a tired, somewhat annoyed sigh – “and I was hoping we could –”

“We have nothing to discuss,” John said in a dry, but level voice and returned his attention to the camera feed he had been watching. “I thought that was already pretty clear.”

“Well, I had to make sure,” Samuel chuckled, “But you have to understand, there is just one small thing missing…”

“Afraid I can’t help there,” John said nonchalantly, not returning his gaze to the man who resigned himself to leaving with a sigh. That was the first time someone had come looking for him in months, and John was relieved to have lost him that quickly.

The question of how the hell they knew where to find him remained in the back of his head for the rest of his shift. There was also the fact that this man had shown up in the middle of the night. It at least gave him something to focus on other than exhaustion.

He considered stopping for some coffee, but as Samantha put it a few days prior, he's been running on nothing but caffeine. He was well on his way home, the dawning sun possibly being the only thing that kept him awake. He tried focusing on the radio: some music here and there, but it was mostly news from the day before; nothing he hadn't already heard. The forecast spoke of a sunny, but cold day, perfect for – _CRASH!_

The noise was far too close and far too loud. John felt the impact throughout the left side of his body and the sound of metal clashing against metal rang in his head. A jolt of pain ran through his body, along with the adrenaline, as everything seemed to spin. Maybe the noise was not just in his head.

John’s heartbeat was accelerated by panic once everything finally stopped moving. The car had overturned, he could tell that much, and the only thing that kept him on his place was the seat belt cutting into his neck. He pulled his arm from the twisted metal door frame, and _shit_ , it hurt. Freeing his legs was a work in progress.

More sounds of metal twisting, as if the car hadn't stopped yet. John tried to free himself of the seat belt, but doing it while half of his body was in constant pain proved difficult. He caught glimpse of someone outside just in time to see them cutting it for him.

John had no time to react, or fall, as another hand took him by the shoulder and pulled him out of the car. Thrown onto the asphalt, he noticed the missing door from his car as well as the burly figure that stood by it. He nodded at something and walked away from the scene.

“– before he recovers.” John snapped his attention to the source of a voice, but it took him a moment to recognize the blonde that was standing beside him. “Ah, Reaper,” Samuel called to him with an expression he couldn’t read through the blue eyes, “I hope you don’t mind the VX being the one to handle you today.”

A much stronger jolt of pain hit his abdomen, immediately followed by a growing numbness.

“You should have just come willingly,” was the last thing he heard that morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .. And no, I'm not sorry for any of this :)  
> I hope everything makes enough sense, this was my first time writing a car crash. Phew!  
>  **EDIT - 09/01/2019:**  
>  Hello again!! I had chapter 1 to 3 ready to be updated for a few months now but had decided I should wait until I got up to date - I would have notified these updates whenever I put chapter 5 out. But, all things considered (aka chapter 4 being a pain in my ass again), I think I should update these chapters now. I feel like this is good both for my motivation and you all who are patiently waiting for updates (love you all <3).  
> Why am I even reworking the already-posted chapters? Simple. ARITS is my biggest story in a long time (yes, bigger than Captain's Log, and that's already something), and I'm a bit of a perfectionist. Things feel much better, and I'm a lot more comfortable with my style. I have since started a story-wide outline for ARITS, which is mostly done, too.
> 
> Chapter 2 is... Well. Frankly, four times longer than what was originally posted, so I don't actually have that much to say hah (other than that I love the Grimms).


	3. Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Medical torture ahead. Be careful when reading, your mental health comes first.  
> \---  
> And special thanks to Bunny and Kona for the help! (You know what you did.)

_You should have just come willingly_.

The words were burned on his mind, echoing loud and clear as other voices started to rise around him. The sound of footsteps coming and going slowly brought him into consciousness. John opened his eyes to a white light directly above him, almost too bright, and the few figures he could see walking looked almost like ghosts.

He couldn't tell for certain who these people where. Sure, they were wearing what seemed to be some form of medical uniform, but…

The cold touch of a blade snapped him into full attention. He tried moving, jerking away from it, but he couldn't even shake the restraints holding him. Feeling the pressure and every inch of the blade made him want to scream, but he refused to give them the pleasure of such a reaction. Whoever held it was very precise as they separated the skin from the side of his body.

He didn't have much time to process that, either way. The scalpel moved to his left arm, and with the same precision, removed another neat rectangle of his skin, leaving him panting from the effort of trying to get away from it. His nerves were burning where there was no skin anymore, and the air sent new waves of pain through his body.

It stroke him as odd that he was feeling every cut and stitch. It had been months since he last felt… Well, anything like that, and in particular the warmth of the blood pooling on his side.

Whoever these people were, John couldn't find any discernible features. They really were like ghosts, moving in silence until they left him. Still unable to move, a pleasant numbness settled over him over time.

John didn't recall closing his eyes, but he opened them elsewhere. The lights weren't as blinding as they were in whatever room he had left. He sat up as soon as he registered the change. There was no way to tell how much time had passed, given how barren the room was. At least he wasn't in… A procedure room.

If anything, that was meant to pass as a bedroom, but it was closer to a cell. There were only a bed and a small cabinet. Things were a little more warm-colored, at least, but it was all probably just old.

The automatic door opened, about two minutes later, and brought his attention forward. A man walked into the room in silence, just within the door frame. It stayed open. Behind him, the first familiar face of that day showed up.

"How are you, John?" If he didn't know better, he would suspect that there was a genuine concern in Samuel Hayden's question. "I hope you like the room." There was an unspoken affirmation there, but John couldn't place it. He refused to humor Samuel with a conversation, glaring at him instead and earning a frown, quickly replaced by something akin to a smirk. "Well, just make yourself at home, Sergeant."

He lunged forward from the bed. He would not stay there – wherever there was, exactly. A few large steps were all it took to reach the door, but he didn't step through it. He didn't get _anywhere_. The figure that had stayed in silence and perfectly still during Samuel's little speech moved suddenly, throwing him across the room with relative ease. John hit the floor with a loud thud.

If anyone asked him, he would say that his surroundings had morphed into some other place when he opened his eyes again. His head throbbed and his body was recovering from a familiar numbness. It took him a moment to realize where he was, and he tried to get up as soon as he did. But of course, he couldn't; He was strapped down to a surgical table once again.

John regained his focus in time to notice the oxygen mask over his face. There was a sweet smell of… Whatever it was. Grass? He felt his throat and lungs burn due to whatever he was breathing, suffocating on the liquids that were filling his lungs. Panic settled. He tried slowing his breathing down, but at every intake, the burning sensation worsened. There was hardly any oxygen for him to breathe, and his arms strained against the bindings, slowly losing strength as his vision grayed.

Before he truly suffocated, the gas stopped flowing. He hadn't realized there were people with him until the mask was taken off his face, and the only sound in the room was of his own coughing. He turned his head to the side in order to spit out whatever liquid had formed, but before he could get rid of it all, he found himself unable to move.

And then, there was a new cut.

This time, the single vertical cut was deeper than the others, starting at the sternum. He felt the scalpel cutting through muscle, reaching the bone underneath it, and the following cold of surgical spreaders keeping it from closing. He was unable to scream over the pain. There was only so much he could do to ignore the sensation of a needle puncturing his exposed lungs. So he lay there, unable to do much other than feeling it.

One advantage to a 24th chromosome was knowing he wouldn't die that easily. One of the disadvantages was knowing he'd also feel everything, from the injury to the healing. He was somewhat surprised that the thought occurred to him relatively coherent before he blacked out.

The silence was rather comforting, although short-lived. The hiss of the automatic door made him snap his eyes open. He was in that mockery of a bedroom once again. He placed a hand on his chest, feeling for something like stitches under the t-shirt he was wearing. There was nothing.

He turned to the door and sure enough, Samuel's bodyguard stood watching him from the door. Alone. "How are you feeling?"

"What the hell?" John muttered under his breath. The man's voice lacked any kind of intonation beyond the question. "Where's your friend?" He asked instead.

"Dr. Hayden is not in the facility."

He hummed, somewhat surprised by that. The man in front of him didn't say anything else, and John was not interested in small talk. Those dull-colored eyes never left him. If he was staying inside, the door would be unlocked for whenever he decided to leave. John decided to take his chance.

It took him fewer steps than the first time to reach him. His visitor reached out a hand to take hold of him once again. John didn't let himself be pushed away, and his punch connected with more strength than he expected. Something sounded different.

He barely reacted, barely moved his head to the side. Instead, John was kicked away. Yeah, that man was stronger than he would have expected. And that's when he noticed the red light on the side of his face.

Without a thought, he moved forward again, throwing his whole body into the second punch. The man stumbled sideways with a crack to his jaw. John expected some form of reaction, but he simply… Stopped.

He stepped closer, cautious, but there was no movement. Under the broken skin, he noticed the metal that was poking out. He inhaled deeply, not sure whether he was relieved or not. Instead of thinking too much about it, John walked to the door, but it didn't open.

"You gotta be kidding me," he groaned. Of course, the android would have locked it. He stood still for a brief moment, then started walking around the room, not at all careful with the heap of metal and wires on the floor.

Pacing around like a caged animal wasn't the best he could do, but there wasn't much else to do, anyway. He kicked the robot each time he passed it, in order to have something to do while he counted the passing seconds.

Three minutes. Thirteen minutes.

He lost count at some point and restarted. It lasted for about fifteen minutes before he lost count again. It was nearly impossible to keep track of time, and he couldn't tell if it had been hours or days since he got there.

His mind drifted to Samantha. If only hours had passed, chances were that she was going through her day as normal, but if it had been days…

The door opened again. He looked up and his blood ran cold once he saw the android standing by the door once again, in one piece. John expected some form of movement, or anything more than minutes of a silent and unmoving stare, but all that happened was the red light on the side of his face once more. Behind it, Samuel walked into the room properly for a change and crossed his arms.

“How are you adjusting, John?” There was a small smirk in Samuel's face, or so John thought. “I hope you're not being too rough on the MXs.” So, they were different. That John's patience for this entire mess was waning with Samuel's every word and step into the room was one hell of an understatement. "They are only trying to help you get used to things here, you know?"

The promise that John wouldn't leave went unsaid, but it was there, alright. With a sharp intake of breath, he lunged forward, stretching an arm in order to grab the blonde, now so close to him. But the android that was still by the door grabbed him with a sudden movement and threw him across the room, almost effortlessly. John hit the floor with a loud thud.

The MX stood between them like a wall, but it didn’t stop him. Nothing would. There was only some degree of satisfaction in John’s mind once his fist smashed the android’s face, sending it tumbling sideways. He hadn't seen himself move towards it, but at that moment his attention rested upon the very human man that shuffled towards the door.

No rational thought could stop him. John once again lunged at Samuel, nothing there to stop him, and he let a clawed hand sink into the man’s chest. And another. _And again_. It took a moment for John to regain some form of reasoning, but his body didn’t stop until the rest of Samuel’s body disconnected from his shoulders.

He looked down at his bloodied hands. It was all wrong, _so_ wrong. John could hear his desperate heartbeat over the sight. Nails that were ripping the flesh of his fingers took the shape of claws near the length of the fingers that held them, and the skin of his arms looked molten, with only a numb sensation left in its place.

Samuel let out a chuckle. Something about the pathetically confused man on top of him must have been amusing enough for a genuine chuckle. But he should be nothing more than a lifeless bust. John jumped to his feet and it soon turned into a laugh.

“You are no better, John Grimm.” Samuel followed him with icy blue eyes as he retreated further, slowly backing away from the talking corpse. “You are just like the imps you killed, you know that.”

John kept backing away with erratic breathing. He couldn’t look down at his body. In fact, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the smiling bust of Samuel Hayden at all, in fear of what he could find, of what could be reflected in the room. He hit the wall behind him with a gasp.

One second. The blink of an eye was all it took for his surroundings to melt away into something else once more. He wasn't in the pristine white room that had him poked and prodded in whatever medical torture those phantoms saw fit. No, the red emergency lights meant something else entirely.

He walked cautiously through the corridors of Olduvai. Everything was eerily quiet, but he still called for Sam. The numbness on his arms was slowly replaced by a burning sensation that spread further with every beat of his heart, speeding up along with his steps. By the time he found a door in the maze he was in, he all but ran to it, slamming his entire body against it in order to force it open.

And with a gasp, he woke up.

Same beige walls, same bed. No broken android or mauled body on the floor, but a frail-looking man stepped a few feet away from the bed, breathing as nervously as he did. John sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at his arms and hands. His tattoo was gone with only a barely noticeable scar left in its place, but he was still human. _Definitely so_.

"You're awake," the man spoke after a deep breath, "Oh, thank god, you're awake. I–" John turned to him then, and the man stammered under the scrutiny. "Uhm… Y-you, uh, you looked rather… Distraught, and I-I had to wake you up, so–"

“What do you want?” John interrupted him before he could truly start rambling.

He ran his hands over his face, putting a lock of his light brown hair back in place with a sigh. “I would _truly_ like to get you out of here…” John furrowed his brows, suspicious. He rose his arms in a sign of surrender. “My name is Rudy, and _none_ of this is what I expected,” he babbled, “Or wanted, for the record.”

John got up, still carefully watching Rudy. The man seemed to have stopped breathing, frozen in place until he walked up to him to lower his arms for him.

“I guess anything is gonna be better than staying here,” John sighed and gestured toward the door. “Lead the way.”

Rudy hurried through the door with the same nervousness as before. John wasn't sure what to make of it, not after however long it had been. John had enough reason to take the risk as it was, and not enough to wait, so he quietly followed, ready and more than willing to fight his way out if it came to that once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I assure I love you, readers.  
>  **EDIT - 09/01/2019:**  
>  Hello again!! I had chapter 1 to 3 ready to be updated for a few months now but had decided I should wait until I got up to date - I would have notified these updates whenever I put chapter 5 out. But, all things considered (aka chapter 4 being a pain in my ass again), I think I should update these chapters now. I feel like this is good both for my motivation and you all who are patiently waiting for updates (love you all <3).  
> Why am I even reworking the already-posted chapters? Simple. ARITS is my biggest story in a long time (yes, bigger than Captain's Log, and that's already something), and I'm a bit of a perfectionist. Things feel much better, and I'm a lot more comfortable with my style. I have since started a story-wide outline for ARITS, which is mostly done, too.
> 
> Chapter 3 also ended up getting rewritten altogether, but I think the differences are less drastic than in After Mars... And as for chapter 4, I'm still working on it!!! Please bear with me, folks... I'd never abandon this story!


	4. The Raid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not to be confused with the Big Bad Bosses' song of the same name :P (sorry, I only have a joke to say here, but I like saying _something_ in here)

That was certainly a day that would be hard to forget in the years to come. John walked out of the room, for once willingly and on his own, with Rudy as a guide. The man was certainly nervous to be there, though. _Robotics_ , he reminded him enough times, _was a separate division altogether, a different building_ , but he knew where he was going.

_Down_. They were going downstairs. It was a long walk, to say the least, and it was silent as well. After descending three floors, John took notice of the lack of windows and it dawned on him that he may have been kept on the top floors. The three floors he recognized, to put it simply, because of less than desirable circumstances.

Another floor down, and they came upon the first locked door. John silently took note of the red keycard that Rudy drew from his pocket but before he could open the door all the way through, someone on the other side caught John’s attention. Or rather, the gun they carried did.

A well-timed shove to the side got Rudy off of the bullet’s path before he could protest against it. He let the door close, but the low grunt of pain – or maybe of annoyance – drew his attention back to the man by his side. There was blood on John's left shoulder, but no injury. Not one that stayed open, at any rate.

That's what got John in that situation in the first place. That goddamn twenty-fourth chromosome. The healing and the stamina and the strength that became a part of him. But Rudy seemed honestly… Surprised at what he saw. _He didn't know?_ He seemed to want to start speaking, maybe ask a question, when the lock opened once again.

Whoever took the shot at them forced their way through the door and John responded in kind. He would fight his way out if he had to, that was not up to debate. It was a quick struggle, thankfully, that ended with only one unconscious man on the floor.

The two continued down, finding more and more of UAC security personnel as they walked, and John continued to fight his way through. No lasting injury, but _shit_ , those bullets hurt. At least no one wanted him dead.

He stopped briefly by a window for the first look outside in a month. The three buildings of the complex had an old exterior that contradicted everything he had seen inside, one of them with even fewer windows than the building they were in.

The two kept moving, but something wasn’t right. Medical and scientific equipment were scattered throughout the corridors, being moved in such a hurry that it seemed unlikely that they would stay intact. The security personnel looked thuggish, some of them carrying guns they likely should not have. Something else was happening in that place.

After descending some other floors, John felt the beginning of a headache and a twinge in his shoulder. He caught a glimpse of movement outside. _Cops and a number of those MX androids._ That would explain the rush inside, but a knot formed in his throat. UAC had access to _much_ more than what he expected and what they should probably have, including police androids. They were expecting them to come.

Rudy had to pull John by the arm in order to get him moving again. He lost count of how many staircases they climbed down, but there was a split in the path for a change. _Quick access to the other buildings_ , Rudy noted at some point, and John was quick to push his guide down the new path. He could probably walk out with no problems and he had done more than enough in pointing the right direction.

On the other hand, John did not hold such hope for himself. A bullet grazed his arm, and the cut it made stayed open. He mentally cursed at the timing but kept pushing through regardless. _One way or another_. The fatigue weighed on him, slowing him down on plenty of occasions, but he still made it out of the building.

The sound of gunfire was dangerously close. From that point onwards, it spiraled out of his control far too quickly. He could not see who shot his leg, but the pain of the following blast was far greater than that of the bullet. Thoughtlessly, he tried getting up, but his legs failed him. His head and body were throbbing, but he turned around, barely holding himself up, in order to look back. There was no right leg to move.

He looked up around him, and found himself surrounded once again by ghostly figures, this time much darker than the others and they were coming closer. The noise of the explosion rang in his ears and adrenaline kept the pain dull. John put so much effort into crawling, more than he thought his body could muster, but he didn't go far.

The clang of metal hitting the ground was a surprising echo in the open area he found himself in. He didn’t need to see it, as he could easily recognize the ticking of a grenade.

The second blast came from behind, and he did his best to ignore the generalized pain he felt after the larger explosion. He tried to fight against the dark spots that quickly formed and covered his vision, but his whole body throbbed in god knows what kind of pain. He couldn't see anything nor could he move.

He was still conscious, and somewhat aware of what happened. Everything was silent for a short moment. Or maybe it lasted several minutes, or an hour or two. He couldn't tell anymore. All John knew for sure was how he was sprawled on the concrete floor, with no right leg to move or energy to keep his eyes open.

He felt cold. He _realized_ he felt cold only after he felt a warm touch turning him around. He let out an involuntary grunt, and whoever it was that moved him seemed relieved to get some form of reaction from him. Then, it was silent and cold again.

John let himself fade, the darkness being the only pleasant aspect of the whole situation he was in. Some voices brought his attention back to reality every now and then, but the words they spoke sounded almost like a foreign language. He was no longer face-down on the floor, he could tell that much, and the pain had subsided significantly.

He thought he was safe. He felt safe, more than he had in the past month, and maybe he really was out of danger. But until he could truly wake up, everything was just a distant sensation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter! Almost Human time, properly!


End file.
